


Even Now

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: "I told you Sherlock but did you listen?", Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort for both boys, Guilty Sherlock, M/M, No Mary or Rosie, No sex but some loving up, Post-Season/Series 04, Protective John, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlock hears John at last
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 08:16:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13713660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: Sherlock's incessant curiosity bites him in the heart.





	1. Chapter 1

Bored, but on his own until John returned from the shops, Sherlock pottered around the sitting room, moving small items from and invariably returning them to their respective places, re-stabbing the mail, tipping crooked the headphones worn by the bison wall skull, just to annoy his brother on his next visitation which he hoped to postpone into the new year, nearly three months hence. The door knocker downstairs was already askew.

He’d thought about accompanying John, but the idea of vegetable picking and fruit squeezing for firmness and eye-quality, despite John’s company, which he highly valued more than the company of any other person on the planet, was not on that day. He smirked, filing that away to use on his doctor the next time they argued, which might be sometime after the new year as well, given how brilliantly they were getting along since John had returned home.

It was to him, still, and ever would be his army doctor’s home. John often reminded Sherlock that he was of the same mind and each time his heart swelled with love until he feared it would burst from his chest cavity. 

The one time Sherlock tried to explain the feeling to John, his doctor of the best and wisest sort, looked at him with a horrified expression and said, “Ew, Sherlock?” It was a first declaration of mutual understanding that now, more often that not, ended in giggling and hugging.

The only consulting detective in the world chortled to himself at the insanity of his visual, but knew that, deep inside the very soul he always had denied he possessed before John walked into his life, it was true. John made him a better man, evidenced this day by the thorough cleaning he’d completed in his doctor’s absence, not for the cleanliness of it, but to make John happy.

From the the middle of the sitting room, turning three-hundred-sixty degrees, he swept the room with his gaze. Not a single thing was out of place. Even the books were standing military-straight, a task John would appreciate, if he noticed. After all their time together, his army doctor’s observational skills had improved dramatically, but they were still woefully insufficient. John tried very hard to please, willing to make deductions even when he was told they were all wrong.

Sighing dramatically, he wandered to the window, pushing aside the voile as he anticipated John’s return, but there was no sign of him on the street below.

Trying to keep his promise to not be overly needy, Sherlock tapped out a decidedly unneedy text. Honestly, he’d picked up so many of John’s funny little words and phrases he sometimes lamented the potential loss of his own command of the English language.

Where are you? It’s been an age since you were here with me -SH

Drumming his fingers on the sitting room table as he waited for a response, he eyed John’s laptop. His own laptop, which currently resided in the bedroom where he’d left it the previous night, was too far away. Lifting the lid gave him a small snap of guilt, but he opened it anyway. 

There was no guesswork involved in the login, as John always used his email address. Since it was on his blog anyway, John would not imagine using anything more secure, no matter how many times Sherlock tried to warn him. The password would take a bit more thought since it was changed often as John tried to keep a bit of privacy for himself.

Before he’d begun to deduce, his phone pinged. Seeing it was from John made him smile.

At the chip and pin machine and no I’m not hurling insults at it Be home in 15 <3 u -JW

“Ugh,” Sherlock commented with a groan at John’s unfortunate use of his own personal style of texting. “Oh, for God’s sake, John, punctuation?” he shouted at the text message. 

All right.-SH

Sorry about the punctuation sherlock cant textand use thecard at the sametime :) <3 u -JW

You’re repeating your ‘emoji,’ John. -SH

Is there an emoji for shut up sherlock -JW

Sherlock smirked, rolling his eyes. For once he had no pithy reply for John. 

Were John’s emojis even considered as such or were they actually typographics? John wouldn’t care and at the moment, Sherlock couldn’t be bothered.

Turning his attention to John’s laptop, he stared at the cursor that dared him to deduce it on the first try. If he tried three times and failed, he’d be locked out and have to endure a long-suffering reprimand from John. 

Recalling John’s intense consideration of the keyboard just this morning, he knew the password had been changed. He was the most unimaginative person when it involved anything other than his blog, so it had to be something complex and/or..oh.

Sherlock typed in hS2uVL.

“Yes!” Sherlock chortled triumphantly, then looked toward the door to be sure no one observed him. Typographic, indeed. And backward. Clever man.

Searching for recently opened files, he spied a document John had accessed daily for two years and then not once since mid-autumn of that year, oh, the time of his return. And then once again, just yesterday. Curious.

Opening the document, he immediately saw that it was a song lyric, written by someone he vaguely remembered as an American singer. Pop culture, likely sentimental, and heart-rending definitely, but until he began to read, he had no idea..


	2. Chapter 2

When the door downstairs closed with a thud and the footsteps he knew apart from all others sounded on the stairs, he hurriedly closed the laptop to avoid being caught out. 

A few long strides carried him to the landing and halfway down the stairs to meet his flatmate. Partner. Colleague. Love. He observed surprise and immediate suspicion cross John’s well- loved face when he relieved his doctor of the bags and backed himself against the wall to allow John to precede him for the remainder of the ascent to the flat.

Silent because he dared not speak for fear of blurting out his confession, Sherlock emptied the bags and proceeded to store the items in their proper places. John wandered away for reasons of his own.

After tidying, Sherlock went in search of John, and found him at the sitting room table, studying the payments due. Framing John’s face in his long fingers, Sherlock kissed him sweetly and with all the love he possessed, enough, he hoped, to distract from his laptop.

Guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders and quickened his heartbeat so much that he had to force himself to breathe. Once he resumed his normal rhythm, he carefully turned his focus to John, who gazed at him with a besotted expression. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my Sherlock?” he said with a catch in his voice.

“I missed you.”

“Less than an hour, Sherlock. I was gone less than an hour.”

There was not a bit of rancor in John’s tone, just a lovely, teasing warmth, but Sherlock deduced a growing suspicion in John’s eyes.

“Your absence made my heart grow fonder?”

Sherlock bit his lip. If anything, his words had made John more suspicious, not less. He dared not say another word, and just let the words fade away. His doctor’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked around the sitting room. Uh-oh. Although he observed John without a word in his own defence, that didn’t prevent his mind from devising a just in case scenario, if, no, when, John somehow found him out. There was nothing he could say that would not incriminate himself. What was the Americanism John used?

Yes, he was between a rock and a hard place.

Finally, after what seemed longer than one of those insipid James Bond films he pretended to enjoy just to be close to John, his doctor went up on his toes to kiss him and pat his cheek. Sherlock leaned into John’s touch and smiled against his lips. Perhaps this one time, no, not going to happen. He could almost see the words before they tumbled from John’s mouth.

“I don’t know what it is that is making you feel guilty enough to tidy up like this and help me with the,” John waved his hand in the direction of the kitchen. “Stuff from the shops, but thank you.”

“I haven’t destroyed anything John.”

Not your trust, John. Anything but your trust. 

“I trust you, Sherlock.”

“Sometimes at your peril, but I’ve learned that you can forgive me anything, as long as I don’t keep secrets or leave without taking you with me.”

John’s expression softened. He reached out to take Sherlock’s hands in his.

“Is there something wrong, Sherlock? You’re trembling. Are you ill?”

“No, John I’m fine. Have you had lunch?” Inside, Sherlock cringed at his own sudden subject change. He hadn’t meant to say more than that he was fine. John somehow always got him to confess. One day he might deduce how that was possible, but not today. Stay strong, he warned himself.

John kept his gaze locked on him, but Sherlock looked away, giving his doctor more reason to suspect something was not right. Why? Why had he invaded John’s privacy? Regret sat heavy on his heart.

“Yes, Sherlock. They brought in food for a small goodbye party for one of the staff. Have you eaten?”

“Wasn’t hungry.” He had to think, but he couldn’t with John so near, and any fib he might use seemed much worse than the truth.

“Sherlock, just talk to me, and no fibbing,” John said in a calm voice that still sliced through him. Mary knew when he fibbed, now John was on guard, too.

“John, I..”

John took his hand and squeezed. “Wait, Sherlock. Before you say anything that will upset you more than you already are, do you need to go for a walk to think? By yourself, I mean.”

Sherlock stared at the floor, unwilling to see the hurt he imagined in his doctor’s expression, but when John took his face in his gentle hands and kissed him, he found the strength to raise his eyes. John’s face wore not hurt, but a soft smile.

“It’s okay, Sherlock, when you agreed to never shut me out or leave me behind, I thought you understood that I meant I didn’t want to be left behind like when you went away, but Sherlock? Do you need to go for a walk or to one of your bolt holes, to think?” 

“Yes,” Sherlock fibbed, and it sliced through his heart. 

“It’s okay to want to be alone sometimes. I don’t expect us to be together every minute of every day. That wouldn’t be healthy. I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clear.”

John kissed him again, and he felt his muscles relax. The good doctor helped him into his great coat and scarf and led him to the door, pulling John him down for another kiss. “Have a nice walk. I’ll be here when you come home.”

Sherlock finally smiled at him. “Okay. See you in a bit.” At the bottom of the stairs, he already knew what John would do the moment he stepped out onto the pavement.


	3. Chapter 3

A quick look at the edge of his laptop and the now missing thread he’d placed on the keyboard gave him the evidence he needed to know that Sherlock had been too lazy to retrieve his own from wherever he’d last used it and so had commandeered his. And it was obvious from his behaviour that Sherlock had seen something that sent his mind reeling to concoct all sorts of scenarios.

Seconds after the downstairs door closed behind Sherlock, John pulled on his coat and raced down the stairs. Peeking around the doorway, he caught sight of Sherlock just as he turned the corner farther down the street. John knew exactly where Sherlock was headed. Well, if he were honest, he knew before his detective left the flat. Not a bolt hole, just a quiet place to regroup and get his story straight. John slowed his pace, to avoid being seen. 

While maintaining a comfortable distance, in his mind, John puzzled over the just moments old events, keeping his eyes on Sherlock, and trying to dismiss the niggling in his gut that told him Sherlock already knew that he was being followed.

Countless days, weeks, months away from those early days, Sherlock still had danger nights and dark days, thankfully rare now, but the possibility always lurked in the background whenever a difficult case took hold of him. 

Recently though, he’d felt Sherlock’s intense scrutiny more often and wondered if something was not right with the ‘us’ part of their lives together. Maybe he was just out of sorts, John thought. Maybe it was a just because situation, a one-off with no real reason attached. He could always hope, but with Sherlock, he never knew for certain, and sometimes it was too late when he finally caught on.

As he followed, aware of only Sherlock’s strolling, hands in pockets figure, his mind skipped back to those danger nights once again. John liked to think that the rarity of those nights was because of his companionship and his calming influence. When they became more than just friends, the danger nights had all but disappeared.

So deep in thought about what might be bothering Sherlock, John briefly lost sight of him, but he continued on into Regent’s Park, toward the bench and the duck pond where his consulting detective often found solace.

Sherlock was there, just as John knew he would be, watching the ducks as they drifted on the current to some other place in the pond. As though they knew he was there, five or six of them hovered near. John imagined them gathering nearby to keep Sherlock company until he could relieve them of their clandestine observation. He smiled at the thought.

He watched for a short time until Sherlock leaned forward to bury his face in his hands. It was now or never, he thought as he quietly approached the bench and its downcast occupant.


	4. Chapter 4

None of his usual bolt holes seemed an appropriate location for thinking. Too dark in some, too noisy in others. This bench was somewhat secluded; he knew John would not appreciate talking in some less pleasant spot. The inevitable talk. It’s what doctors do. 

From the moment he was out of sight of Speedy’s distinctive awning, Sherlock knew that John was on his six. Ah, he smirked at the term, they’d watched too many procedural dramas, some police or military-laden, and John’s army experiences, the thought of which allowed him a quick laugh before John approached him. 

Without a word, John sat next to him, as close as they often sat on the sofa at home, touching from hip to knee, well, the length was approximate, but perfect.

The silence grew long, but not unpleasant. Glancing down at his doctor’s hand, the strong, sturdy fingers splayed on his own thigh, Sherlock folded his own around John’s. 

“You were following me.”

“Yes. I knew you knew,” John said, leaning closer as though what he said was a confidence.

“Why?”

“You were a bit off.”

“Everyone says I’m a bit off, despite your influence.”

“Not everyone, I disagree with you there.”

“You would, John. You always defend the indefensible when it concerns me.”

“True.”

“Again, why? A simple answer will suffice, John.”

“It’s the same simple answer for everything that concerns you.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense, John.”

“Because I love you, you twit.”

Sherlock glanced sidelong at John.

“Warned you it was simple.”

“Yes, you did.”

John turned his hand palm up to lace their fingers. “Talk to me Sherlock.”

Silence fell between them for several minutes. On occasion, John’s patience was infinite. Sherlock noted that this appeared to be one of those occasions.

A peripheral glance at his doctor alerted him to some sort of mulling or ruminating. So, he thought, John was searching for the right words to say.

John inhaled deeply as though he’d found the words and was about to speak. Sherlock tensed, trying very hard not to squeeze his fingers to give himself away. “You know.”

Two words. They were out of his mouth before John could say what was on his mind.

“About the laptop? Of course. I set a trap for you.”

“I’m sorry you felt the need to do that.” 

“Sherlock,” John began, shifting sideways to look at him, but not releasing his hand. “I’m just teasing you a bit. I’m not going to reprimand you. I’m the one who should apologise to you. It was not my intention to hurt you, you know that, don’t you?”

“I was so worried that you weren’t yourself the last few days; I was looking for a reason.”

“And did you find a reason on my laptop?”

Sherlock huffed. “Nothing definitive, no.”

“But you found something else, something you weren’t expecting. Even an idiot like me could deduce that by the fear in your eyes.”

Sherlock locked his most intense gaze on John’s dark blue eyes. “You are not an idiot.”

“I know, Sherlock, I was just making a point. Being an idiot in your universe always makes me all warm and squishy inside. I only took umbrage with it the one time. After that, I thought of it as an endearing term. Still do.”

The detective felt a smile crawl across his lips, but when he remembered the point of the document he’d seen on John’s laptop, his smile dissolved, and he was side by side with despair once again.

“Love, I have no secrets from you. That’s not only improbable, but utterly impossible. Living with you is like having a genius inside my head. There is very little, if anything at all, that you don’t know. Sometimes I think you can read my thoughts.”

Sherlock inhaled deeply, his chest a bit less congested with worry. He’d long ago stopped fearing that John would leave him every time he said or did something that was just not on. Now he worried about everything else, such as losing John to some unfortunate incident over which he had no control. 

Dismissing those thoughts now for a split-second memory of the first time John had informed him that something was ‘a bit not good,’ he remembered there was no judgement in John’s tone, just a soft correction. Sherlock also remembered how it felt to receive those words. He’d filed them away in his Mind Palace because it was one of the first little things that he liked about John. That was during the early days, when John’s place in his Mind Palace was just a little corner of the now overflowing John Watson Wing, soon to be a mansion?

“What is it?”

Sherlock realised he had an overly conspicuous grin on his face.

“A..John recollection.”

“You have a lot of those, do you?”

“More than you could imagine, but not nearly enough.”

John nodded, his lips quirking so that a tiny dimple appeared. He’d not observed a dimple there before this moment. New data to process.

“Well, my love, you really don’t have to worry. It’s okay, whatever you saw on my laptop is not official, secret or top secret. I’ve been clearing out some of the old stuff that I don’t need anymore, deleted some things, re-organised others.”

John abruptly stopped speaking and stared at some point beyond the duck pond. “The song lyrics?” John whispered so softly that it was barely more than a breath. His doctor looked at him, something like dawn breaking in his beautiful blue eyes. “Oh.”

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to the fleshy part of this thumb. 

Silence surrounded them again. It seemed to Sherlock that neither had anything to say. He’d vowed, no, not another vow after all that had happened, he’d promised to never keep secrets and here they were again. He’d already fibbed once today. Best to remain buttoned up.

“I thought I’d deleted it. You knew enough about what happened to me when I thought you were dead. I didn’t think another piece was worth taking the chance of hurting you more. I thought it would be like rubbing salt in a wound that was nearly healed, but still a bit tender.”

“That was kind of you, John, but my self-reproach, regardless of your forgiveness, is ingrained in the fabric of my being for all time, and not just metaphorically speaking. The pain and grief I caused you in that time was unconscionable, and frankly, John, although I am eternally grateful that you still wish to be with me, most days it is beyond my capacity to understand why you do. Nor do I understand your forgiveness in the face of what happened to..” Sherlock’s voice wavered. He snapped his mouth closed.

And then he was in John’s arms, oblivious to the people passing them by as his doctor held him, rocking him gently, his fingers tangled in the curls at his nape. Sherlock circled his arms around John’s waist, holding as tightly as their positions allowed.

Burying his face in John’s shoulder to center himself, Sherlock took refuge in John’s comfort. That was what his doctor did. He cared for others, sometimes to his own emotional expense. He’d tutored Sherlock about finding more than a little empathy to open him up and pull out all the love that he’d hidden away to protect himself. John had made him complete, a whole, living, breathing person and he was so much better for having John Watson in his life.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you survive, then, when I was-? I don’t think I ever asked you that question.” 

John pulled back to look at him, a sad smile tickling his lips. “When you were away? I was numb, catatonic a lot of the time. I could never make sense of why you would, you know, I blamed myself that I didn’t see it, couldn’t stop you from-” 

“There is always a why, John.”

“I guess in your mysterious world, the Work is always the why?”

“You mean in addition to my arrogance and self-centeredness?”

“Not there, Sherlock. I don’t see that. It’s never directed at me. When you are consumed by your work, then it’s there, but briefly, just until the case is concluded.”

“Nope,” Sherlock countered, popping the ‘p.’ “It’s always there, I just control it better, now, for you. But it was everything then, before I knew what you were to become in my life. I will always regret that, John. I didn’t know.”

John shook his head, his expression far away and ineffably sad. “Even when I met Mary, and we got along and she understood about you, I always had the nagging feeling that something was missing that I would never have again. Something that I would never have with anyone else. You were the only one who filled every place inside my heart. I was whole. And in an instant you were gone. I loved Mary, she filled parts of me, but never all of me. She wasn’t you. She never could be.”

“Gone before you know it. That’s what you said, when you encouraged me to contact-”

“Irene Adler, yes.”

“Did you know, then, what we would become?”

“No, but as time went on, you sort of grew on me and then in my heart. It just happened. I was blind to it at first, until you let me see you for the first time. You let me see your human-” John shook his head slowly, “ness and forced me to see my own.”

“John?”

John looked at him with eyes so full of love that his chest ached at the sight of it.

“But you already know all this Sherlock. I wish I could take away the hurt you still carry with you.”

“You do, John. It’s not a constant hurt anymore. I’m chipping away at it, more and more every day because we are together. One day, I will be free of it.”

John hugged him again, then moved to stand and offered his hand to Sherlock. “Let’s go home, Sherlock. We can pick up some Chinese on the way.”

“John?” Sherlock stood, stepping close to hold John to his chest.

“Here, Love,” John said, circling his arms round Sherlock’s waist and pressing his face into his chest.

“Do you think about the life you might have had with Mary, if the baby had lived?”

“I did, right after, every minute of every day. I questioned why everything happened the way it did just as I did when you..died. Even now, I have a flash of something distant, not clear, but mostly I try not to remember too often. I think about it, in bits and pieces, sometimes, but I have to concentrate on the here and now. And you.”

Sherlock captured him once more in a brief, fierce hug, then took John’s hand and twined their fingers together. John looked up at him, loving him with his eyes.

“Even now..” he said, obviously not realising he’d referenced the song title that had started all...this. “Sometimes, Sherlock, there are no easy answers, and sometimes, admittedly, rarely, there is no answer at all.”

“It is what it is?”

“Hmm.”

John squeezed his hand and pulled him along. “Come on, Sherlock, the ducks are tired of us. I want to go home and love you up.”

Sherlock grinned, feeling so much better inside his heart. “John?”

John turned to him, waited, then melted into his kiss.

The ducks quacked their appreciation.


	5. Chapter 5

“Love you, too, Sherlock Holmes..backwards, John? Really, you couldn’t come up with something more original.”

While standing behind his flatmate, best friend, the love of his life, kneading his shoulders, his chin resting on the top of his curly head while Sherlock accessed the document that had opened up a conversation that neither of them knew they needed to have.

“The song, with the original singer/songwriter performing it, is on YouTube, if you’re interested.”

“Ah, no, John. The written word of...Barry Manilow..is sufficient, I think.”

John leaned against Sherlock’s back, nuzzling his neck. 

“Down, boy.”

The deep-throated laughter from Sherlock elicited a warm, silly giggle that John could not control. It was a nervous laughter that John exhibited; after their talk beside the duck pond, he wasn’t comfortable walking that path again, but when the lyrics appeared in front of them, John’s eyes brimmed.

Even Now  
When there's someone else who cares  
When there's someone home who's waiting just for me  
Even now I think about you as I'm climbing up the stairs  
And I wonder what to do so she won't see  
That even now  
When I know it wasn't right (it was right, Sherlock)*  
And I found a better life than what we had (we had the best life)*  
Even now I wake up crying in the middle of the night  
And I can't believe it still could hurt so bad

“This meant a lot to you?”

Even now when I have come so far  
I wonder where you are  
I wonder why it's still so hard without you  
Even now when I come shining through  
I swear I think of you  
And how I wish you knew  
Even now

“It put my feelings into perspective during the time you were..away, when I thought you were dead. There are more truths in those words than there are untruths.”

Even now  
When I never hear your name (I always heard your name, in my heart)*  
And the world has changed so much since you been gone  
Even now I still remember and the feeling's still the same  
And the pain inside of me goes on and on  
Even now

Even now when I have come so far  
I wonder where you are  
I wonder why it's still so hard without you  
Even now when I come shining through  
I swear I think of you  
And God I wish you knew  
Somehow  
Even now

“You used a script font as though those were your own handwritten thoughts.”

“I did, because..just because.”

“John, may I forward this to my laptop?”

“Yes, but why?”

“To remind myself how you felt about my loss so that I never forget how seriously wrong I was when I didn’t understand that my actions nearly destroyed you.”

Sherlock looked up at him after forwarding the document, his eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears.

John closed his eyes against tears of own. He moved around to face Sherlock, obliging when the love of his life took hold of his hips, and coaxed him to straddle his lap. Chest to chest, arms around each other, their tears mingled as they kissed. John’s chest ached, but after all that he’d been through, it was an exquisite ache. He had everything he’d ever need now.

It was enough. 

Even now, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the three asterisks in this chapter, the parenthetical notations are supposed to be in tiny script, but AO3 would not support it as written (or I don't know how to force it), so I had to use Sherlock's dialogue to acknowledge John's "handwritten" notes on those three lines of lyric.
> 
> It looked so pretty in my Google Docs. Apologies, I hope you will forgive me for asking that you visualize those three notations as script.


End file.
